Between the shifting sand
Ticks the seconds of mortal time
Residing in the fringes of the land
In whispers atop the lonesome pine
It beats the sounds of forgotten memories
Slowly approaching, almost divine
Preaching the sanctity within the breeze
Drawing us closer to our deep design
If one listens very closely
To the melodies in our grieves
It sings of being lonely
As autumn befalls the leaves
Like droplets in an hourglass
Slowly flowing grain by grain
Much as life without a pass
Brings the tears which holds the pain
Written by: Roland R. Ruiz
March 1, 2009
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